I didn’t think those were the actual verses, but you never know. Luckily, or unluckily if you were as amused as I was, his singing stopped, and he put a finger to his lips.
“I heard something,” he whispered, though I don’t know how. He put his hand out and gently pulled me along with him behind the side of a garage. “Don’t say a word!” he hissed in my ear, then looked around the edge of the wall by our side. Then suddenly, making my heart leap with fright, he kissed me loudly on my lips and said, “Doesn’t that song make you horny? Come on, we’re wasting time here!” And the little fart ran away from me to the next house, where he went to the side door and jimmied the lock.
The answer to his question was, yes, yes, it did make me horny, or else it was the kiss. I’d never felt less like my age (once my heart slowed down to near normal) in my life. In my opinion, people who can bring joy to life in the midst of the darkest times are keepers. Keep them in your life; keep them close to you; keep them in your heart. I was out of my depth, madly in love with a twenty-four-year-old boy. Well, a twenty-four-year-old man. And with all the death that surrounded us, not to mention the now limited choices of available men, perhaps age mattered not at all anymore.
Inside the house, not surprisingly, was the smell of death. Burk made me wait in the kitchen, where I rummaged for canned goods, while he explored. He came back white-faced.
“Two dead in the bedroom. The woman is blue, and the man shot himself in the head. We don’t need anything that’s in there, and I closed the door. I’m sorry, man, but these condoms will have to wait until later. And…there’s no way we can bury all these people. We would need, to be blunt, body bags, to keep them from falling…oh, don’t throw up, I’m sorry! Look, let’s find something nice for Mac and anything we can use and get out of here. We’re going to need a Plan B. I can’t keep doing this.”
Of course, I put my arms around him and let him cry against my soul.
A few minutes later, we were opening cabinets and china closet doors and buffet drawers, stuffing random finds into our packs. There was an entire bag of brand new stuffed toys they must have bought for grandchildren, and we took that, too. Heartless, oh, yeah, but practical, as well. I looked for musical instruments that were small enough to carry. On a shelf in the hall, I found a violin in an old, musty case. I took it, looking around to make sure I wasn’t seen. I know, that was dumb, but this whole apocalyptic thing was dumb, you know? There were also some very nice recorders and several Peruvian-type bamboo flutes. Mac would like these, I hoped. They had a piano, too, but that wasn’t going anywhere.
“I feel so guilty,” Burk said, outside on the porch, wiping his eyes.
“I know,” was all I could say. “I do, too.”
* * * *
“The traps! Rat traps; we forgot them. We’ll get them on the way back.” Burk was serious now, his high mood gone.
I suppose we all deal with the incredible in our own ways, taking in as much of it as we could at a time. Like they say how you would eat an elephant, one bite at a time. We were on the back porch of the next house.
“I heard something,” he whispered to me.
The door was unlocked but stuck, and when we shoved it open, we found an old woman lying on her side on the floor, half blocking the door. She was dead, I thought, but her eyelids fluttered.
“Oh, you came to say goodbye,” she got out. She looked at me and smiled. “Roger, how good of you to come. I can die a happy woman now. I knew you wouldn’t forget me.” Then she cried out in pain. As I grabbed her hand, she let out a long sigh and never inhaled again.
“Old age and a broken heart, I think,” I muttered and closed her eyes.
Burk had pulled the table cloth off the table and draped it over her. Then we both heard another small noise. Burk drew his gun, his eyes narrowed, and he stood as tall as the Lone Ranger, hushing me and gesturing for me to stay safely behind him. Stupidly, I could only stand there and admire him. In the midst of all the grief and chaos, once again, he showed not only his courage, but his humanity and kindness as well. I grabbed his other hand and followed him closely as we slipped through the door into another room. And something—some thing—grabbed my leg and started climbing me!
Yeah, I did that whole scream like a little girl thing again. Burk spun and pointed his gun directly at my crotch. “No!” I screamed that one as only a grown man can.
When I looked down, the gun was shaking, and the small blob I saw there grew serious little green eyes and pointed ears. I heard Burk laughing hysterically, and I reached down and scooped a tiny kitten up into my arms.
“I think I just peed myself,” I said, my heart pounding.
“Blame it on the cat. That’s what I’m going to do,” Burk got out between laughs.
“I don’t think I can take too much more fun,” I said as I stuffed the kitten into my jacket pocket. Let’s go back.”
“One more house.”
“But on the way back. Let’s cross the street. Wait, look down there. Someone is walking!”
“What’s he carrying? For that matter, what’s he wearing?”
“I know who that is. Well, as much as anyone does. He’s a local homeless guy who wears black plastic garbage bags and never talks to anyone. He walks all over town. There was another guy who used to carry a huge cross all the time, and when he’d go in a restaurant, he’d chain the cross up with his bike. He used to shout every now and then, ‘The end is near!’ and, well, I guess he was finally right.”
By this time, Burk had guided me behind a large bush, lilacs, I think, both of us out of sight, but we could still see the strange man walking. “Do we want him with us? Because me personally, I don’t want anything to do with him. Or the other guy either, if he’s still around.”
“I’m with you. He wouldn’t help us, and I don’t think he needs us to help him, either. Even if I do feel like my brother’s keeper.”
“He’s crossed the street. Let’s go. Actually, let’s run into the hardware store and go home. My nerves are shot.”
I agreed. I gave Burk a quick hug. We picked up our bags, and went on our way.
Chapter 8
Back home, Mac was sitting at my desk, fiddling with the computer. “There’s no Internet,” she complained, “but I’ve been having some lovely games of solitaire. So what did you, oh, my God, look at all the musical instruments! Where’s my piano?” She was smiling, of course, but wistful, too.
Feeling like I should have remembered sooner, I said, “St. Mark’s Cathedral has a couple of them, and a huge organ, too.”
“A huge organ, huh?” Of course, that was Burk, but it had crossed my dirty mind, too. “Please, dear, not in front of the child.”
“I’m not a child. I am nineteen years old, nearly twenty. An adult. Who has a huge organ?”
“No, seriously, you know what, I need a drink. I bet St. Mark’s had a well-hidden supply of wine, too. And it might be a gathering place for anyone who has survived. Shall we check it out tomorrow?”
“Will they let me in? I’m a lapsed Catholic.” Burk didn’t look like he really cared much.
“And what about me? My parents were Baptists, but nobody went for the last decade or so, not since my brother got the pastor’s daughter pregnant,” Mac said.
“It’s Episcopal. It’s one of the open and affirming churches. I doubt very much that anyone is in charge of anything there, let alone of keeping people out. What day is it? I wonder if they’ll still hold the Compline service on Sunday night, the one that was broadcast over the radio. Of course, if they had any services, it would be a miracle, but if they can’t broadcast, they might still be there in person. Let’s check it out tomorrow. We haven’t been over that way yet, anyhow.”
“As long as Plastic Bag Jesus isn’t there,” Burk agreed, “I’m game.”
We poured some wine, toasted each other, and then the bulge in my pocket meowed. All the oohing and ahhing that ensued was enough to make an old man sick. Paris came ove
r, licked the little thing, and immediately tried to carry it off by the nape of its neck. She was obviously prepared to mother the thing for all it was worth. I guess Paris, too, had become lonely and scared without her furry friends around.
I saw something was different about our girl. She wasn’t wearing make-up, and her hair was cut very short. Plus, she had a scraped knee. I had suspicions bouncing all over. “Uh, Fiona, er, Mac, what happened to your knee? Did you fall? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but her shiver said otherwise, so I went over to her. Burk was on the couch, playing with Paris and the kitten. “Mac, let’s not have secrets. Are you really okay? What happened?”
“Promise you won’t be mad? Because I don’t give a shit if you’re mad. It’s just something I had to do. And I do have a secret, and when you know what it is, you’ll probably kick me out, but that’s okay. I can handle it. I’d be fine on my own.”
She swallowed her gum, and there were tears in her eyes, so I sat down closer to her and took her hands. I looked her right in the face.
“Nothing you say would make me kick you out.”
“It’s not what I’d say. It’s what I am, who I am.”
My urge to be funny kicked in. “Well, if it helps, I’m a gay old pervert who used to be a slum-lord and even worse. I lived in New York during the worst of the AIDS days.”
Her eyes, I’d never even noticed how blue they were, how deep. “Oh. Well, then, I’m not really a girl—anymore. I grew up female, and I’m in the middle of transition. I ran out to the pharmacy to get more testosterone and all that stuff I need because I feel so locked into this femaleness yet, and, yes, I really did get my period again. I hate it and I hate myself and now you probably do, too!” And that girl-ness popped right up and sent her bawling and running for her room.
Even Burk looked up. The cats paid no attention, being heavily involved in purring and licking each other. Besides, everybody knows cats don’t give a shit.
She made, I mean, he made, oh, hell, here we go with the fucking pronouns again, right? Mac (or Macdammit, as I’d probably be going for a while) made it to the stairs, gulped, took a deep breath, and then came back. “See how I’m still so in-between? But I saw something on the way back, and I wanted to tell you about it. I was scared at first when this guy talked to me, but he stayed where he was. He must have known he’d scare me. I mean just look how—ugh—female I still look! Anyhow, he said hi and that his name was Jesus, which even pronounced with the H like they do in Mexico, it was still pretty funny, you know? He said he was living door to door, and every time he entered someone’s house if they were dead, he bagged them up and brought them out to one of the parks nearby. He used to run construction equipment, and he’d brought up a front end loader or digger or something and was making mass graves and burying them. He’d say the Lord’s Prayer or something and then go back and live in their house until all their food was gone, and then move on. And I’m sorry I cried and went all girly on you, but this has been the worst week of my life.”
So another Jesus, not to be confused with plastic bag Jesus. Right. Got it.
Burk had been listening. He stood up and struck a pose, a stereotypical, back of the hand to the forehead, eye-rolling thing I hadn’t seen done so well since one of the older queens in New York City, decades ago, had found a run in her stocking. “Oh, my God!” he orated. “You had a bad week? This is the story of my life! My whole life is in ruins, dear child, ruins I say! I left my ten-inch Givenchy platform heels on the plane, for God’s sake! And my Coach purse has been ruined by…” Here he turned to me and looked normal. “What shall I say ruined it? Did I spill some gin in it?”
But I was laughing too hard to answer.
Fiona was slack-jawed and shaking her head. “Are you making fun of me?”
Burk returned, “Are you assuming I’m straight? The nerve!”
Her face…his face…I had to leave the room, and I did it bent over, holding my side and wheezing.
When things calmed down, Burk said, “Don’t go out on your own. Whatever gender you are, it’s young and fresh, and you have gorgeous skin. We love you just the way you are, or the way you will be. I dunno how to phrase these things. Are you going to have a new name? And what pronouns do you prefer? If we can help in any way, let us know. You are among family here, after all.”
What were the odds, I thought as I got ready for bed later. Well, maybe the odds hadn’t been very good, but the goods were certainly odd. I turned out the light, thinking I’d have to round up more candles soon, and went to bed.
* * * *
And I’d need a wind-up watch. Wait, next door had a grandfather clock. We’d have to borrow that. Why that was my first thought on waking, I don’t know, but I’d looked at my alarm clock and, though dim, it seemed to be working. I lay in the dark, wondering what had woken me.
More gunshots? Fire sirens? Airplanes? Bombs? What if someone dropped an atom bomb on us? Suddenly, I thought how stupid we were to not be on the ham radio right now, to have not watched or listened to whatever news we could find all day. The fact that there were two cats purring on my chest did not calm me one bit. I was responsible for these creatures, geez, Bruce, not to mention the boy and the girl/boy asleep in beds above me. Boy and boy, well, man and boy. Fiona, I mean Mac, had made it clear she (shit! he) wanted us to use male pronouns, and that he had three or four male names he was still choosing among, Mac being only temporary.
Did I smell smoke? I hated to disturb the cats, you know how that is, but I slid gently out from under the covers, almost falling on the floor, but at least the cats were undisturbed. I went to the window and peeked out between the blinds. I saw fire, but far away. I heard no planes and no gunfire. You’d think with Seattle’s rainy climate that widespread fire would not be an issue, but just the same, I said a silent prayer for rain.
Suddenly, I was cold and didn’t want to be alone. I wondered if I could wander upstairs to Burk’s room, and if I would be welcome—or shot by accident—if I did. I tried to get back in bed without disturbing the cats and thought that tomorrow, or later today actually, we should not only check on the cathedral, but visit the house with the ham radio, as well. I didn’t think I would sleep again, but I did.
Chapter 9
I must have slept in, for when I got downstairs the next day, my two housemates were cooking breakfast. Cooking, yes, and the lights on, and my alarm clock had still worked. Only static came from the radio, however. As I walked into the kitchen, I heard Burk.
“When it’s safer, we’ll hike over to Good Vibrations and get you a dick.”
“I—what?”
I felt like asking the same thing, but instead, all I did was yawn. “Maybe find a motorcycle or a couple of bicycles. That’s a bit of a trek.” I knew what store he was talking about, but it was obvious Mac did not. Why she—shit—he should have heard of an adult toy store yet, I don’t know, but I wouldn’t mind a trip there myself. Unless the real thing started creeping into my bedroom at night, and I’m sure if I felt that need, then my much younger housemate must be even worse off than me.
Mac asked, “‘Good Vibrations’? What do they…oh. Oh! Sure, yeah, sounds like fun, right after the cathedral, right?”
As I sat down to pancakes and bacon, I said, “Let’s get some camp stoves and propane, too, and extend our hot breakfast season for as long as we can. Hey, has anyone ever raised chickens, if there still are any? I’ve seen plenty of birds, but with this thing, you just never know. Some fine day, we’ll have to talk about moving to a farm in the countryside, or farther south where it might be warmer or safer. Where would we even find chickens here in the city? Is it even safe to travel, or am I just thinking worst-case scenario here?”
“Worst-case scenario would be when we run out of bacon,” Burk said.
It was a toss-up who was the most emotional of the three of us, though I didn’t really consider myself in the running for either first or second place. Mac mi
ght be better if we could get his hormones regulated. I hope he knew what he needed because I had no clue, and any information on the Internet might soon be out of reach, or already was. All that work, all those contacts, all that accessibility right at our fingertips. I was old enough to enjoy and appreciate what I could about it, but these two youngsters, my kids, sort of, had no clue. Had they even been inside a real library? Which reminded me, the library. Had the big one downtown been hit by anything? Were the homeless still camping out near it, or had they now their choice of empty homes to move into? I’d really like to meet this guy who was burying people as he came across them; he sounded like a sensible, and kind, person, who was thinking of the future as well. Like me and chickens.
Mac tapped her fork on her glass. His fork, his glass, goshdarnit. I’d been doing it again! His glass. He (he, see I can do it), cast side eyes at me and said, “I’ve noticed some of you,” this followed by an outright glare at me, “Are having trouble with my gender and pronouns. So, today, one way or another, I’m shaving my head, wearing all men’s clothes even if I have to steal them, including underwear, and I will be packing! For right now, I’ll use a potato. And even though neither of you have noticed, my former boobs are shrinking, and I will now bind them as well.” He sighed. “Of course, I have to get some testosterone or something. I can’t take this having period breakthroughs, and I want to shave. My voice had started to drop, but now it’s not! And…and…fuck it. And my name is now Finn. Just so you know, Finn Mac Cumhail, stop it Burk, that was his name, it doesn’t…Burk? I know where you sleep, Burk.” Newly-named Finn glared at Burk. If looks could kill…
Burk tried his best but was still sputtering with giggles behind his napkin.
“Finn Mac Cumhail was a third-century Irish hero, like Robin Hood,” I explained.
“You said cum,” stammered Burk, giggling.
“Bruce, how much more testosterone do I need before I get a dirty mind like him? I don’t want to turn into just another idiot.”
The Great Silence Page 4
